


Come Back to Bed, T'Challa. I Won't Bite.

by Paranoixa



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Animal Transformation, Established Relationship, Insecurity, Kitty T'Challa, Loss of Control, M/M, Panther T'Challa, Unripe Lemons, Wakanda, WinterPanther - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-19 19:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoixa/pseuds/Paranoixa
Summary: Consuming the Heart Shaped Herb comes with more consequences than previously assumed. There's the enhanced strength, of course, but the sudden craving for uncooked meat and close proximity to loved ones comes as a bit of a shock to say the least. As the presence of his Inner Panther grows stronger, T'Challa struggles to keep his feline characteristics hidden from his country and his family, though it's only a matter of time before everything comes to light.. . ."'Strange'?" He lowers his voice and whispers, "Shuri, I just mauled an animal the size of a small child. Do you not think 'strange' is a bit of an understatement?"Shuri twirls her hand and nods at the anatomical modeling footage displayed on her tablet. "Of course. Please, do forgive me, dear brother. That was an inappropriate response to such a purr-rendous situation.""Shuri.""Settle, pussycat, I'm just teasing."





	1. Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! So this has been lingering in my drafts for a few months now, and I finally got around to posting it. Any and all feedback is welcome, and I hope the reading's good for you. Heads up, the first chunk is extremely (kind of) gory, so I'd suggest skipping to the first "..." if that's not your thing. All right, let's get into it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa discovers something on the Mountain of Tshintsha

Wakanda has but one season: an eternal summer that, regardless of the months, generally accompanies tepid weather and soft blue skies. At the same time, the ecological chemistry of the nation never yields, always changing, always evolving, often through abrupt means. It's both comforting and startling, though most of its civilians have grown to appreciate the tentative nature of their homeland. So when T'Challa returns to the Mountain of Tshintsha, he doesn't linger on the newly grown green carpeting the land. Instead, he kicks off his sandals, rolls back his shoulders, and takes a step forward.

The soil beneath his feet, damp from the storm the night before, is welcoming and familiar despite the changes of the mountain. As he brushes through a canopy of crescent leaves, he's unable to repress a smile, vaguely recognizing the tree from earlier visits. The feathery touch of the leaves against his cheek greets him like an old friend, nostalgic and curious; they seek him out, eager to provide an ear to his humble lips and evoke memories of leaves of a different color and different shape but still, to its roots, the same greenery.

T'Challa is in the midst of admiring a cluster of budding torch lilies when the distinct sound of hooves treading upon the ground meets his ears. Drawing his hand away from the flowers, he turns and finds a Boer goat hunched over the fringe of a stream pool. He takes a hesitant step forward, and the goat's head shoots up, whipping around to stare at him.

There's nothing peculiar about it; he's spent lifetimes exploring these mountains and becoming acquainted with the local fauna. On more than one occasion, T'Challa has actually drawn the attention of these goats and spent hours scaling the mountain with them by his side.

Only this time, there's no fear of frightening the creature. Rather, there's an unruly hunger dispersing from his stomach and crippling his legs. The world turns black, black like a vial of ink spilling over an impassive sheet of paper; the goat, a focal point against a dismal canvas, takes a step back, expelling the smoky aroma of fear. Waves of orange wash off of it and reach T'Challa's nose violently, shoving through his nostrils with intent. Perplexed by the onslaught, he growls and pounces to his feet. The goat bleats and starts to gallop away. Its hooves have just collided with the ground when T'Challa soars through the air and hops onto its back.

The blood is metallic as it splatters against his tongue and his fangs snap around the goat's neck. Scrambling in T'Challa's hold, it lets out strangled bleats and kicks at his stomach. The movement accomplishes little aside from making T'Challa bite harder and reach for the goat's leg. With a sharp twist, the petite limb snaps and dangles in the air. Growling contentedly, he then gives the goat a kick to the head; the critter falls still, and T'Challa surges forward, tearing through its fluffy stomach.

The goat's organs are slimy and far too small to soothe his appetite. But as T'Challa shovels them down his gut, tearing sinews and ligaments in the effort, he finds himself more concerned with the taste rather than the texture. Bitter and rich and vulnerable, it's consuming a feast he hadn't known he'd been anticipating. The mere thought of eating anything other than meat makes him more persistent in his quest, makes him descend further into the primal madness afflicting him. His previous admiration of the mountain displaced, T'Challa eagerly devours the goat until it's drained of all life.

And it's only when he flexes his fingers through the goat's stomach and finds it empty does he stop. It's only when, upon realizing he's not satiated and is tempted to seek out another meal, does he toss the limp carcass away. It's only when he looks down at himself and finds his robes coated with blood does he come back to himself. When he does, he gulps, shakily crawls to his feet, and stumbles down the lush mountainside and into the palace.

. . .

"Okay. This is...strange."  
T'Challa scoffs and jerks his hand away from Shuri. It's sticky with dry blood, and the claws have yet to retreat. Placing it upon Shuri's newly polished table is warrant for death, so he settles for dropping it into his lap. He taps his foot against the floor, lifts his lips up to show her his fangs, and gives her a pointed look. "'Strange'?" He lowers his voice and whispers, "Shuri, I just mauled an animal the size of a small child. Do you not think 'strange' is a bit of an understatement?"  
Shuri twirls her hand and nods at the anatomical modeling footage displayed on her tablet. "Of course. Please, do forgive me, dear brother. That was an inappropriate response to such a purr-rendous situation."  
"Shuri."

"Oh, settle, pussycat." She rolls her eyes, places her tablet on her desk, and chuckles. "I'm not understanding what the fuss is about. So you got a little hungry. You ate, and you're better now. Problem solved." Shuri walks towards the window and glances down at the wide expanse of land stretching before them.

"Not if it happens again." T'Challa rises from his seat, groaning at the sound of his blood-soiled pants sticking to the leather cushion of his seat. He shudders, glances over his bio-scan, and reaches forward. The screen warbles beneath his fingers and magnifies to further display his heart. Gulping, he watches the throbbing of the lurid organ and glosses his tongue over his lips.

Shuri, catching the subtle gesture, swipes her hand over the desk; the model scatters, dots zipping about in various directions until the image fades and the desk reassumes its modest appearance. "Brother", she asks, slowly creeping her hand across the desk to rest upon T'Challa's once more. "Is it happening again?"  
T'Challa blinks and shakes his head. "No, no. I'm fine. For the moment."  
"Right." She leans against the desk, weight resting on her forearms. "Perhaps, you should return to your quarters. Some rest could do you some good. That and James-"  
"James." James's flushed, exhausted face flashes behind T'Challa's eyelids. He'd fallen ill the night before and, according to regular check-ins through their kimoyo beads, had spent most of the day in bed. Their last check-in had occurred just a few minutes before the goat incident. And with his beads discarded somewhere on the mountain, there was no way of knowing the quality of his condition.

"You're going to hurt yourself with all this worrying", Shuri inputs as she gives T'Challa's shoulder a tender shake. "Now, the royal guards have been checking in on him every hour since you left. He's fine. A little grumpy and gross, but he's fine." Feeling the tension in his shoulders, she gives him a firmer shake and uses her free hand to gain his eyes. When he at last turns to face her, she tilts her head and says, "Trust me. He's fine."

T'Challa looks back down at the desk and frowns. "Is it...safe for me to see him?"  
"Absolutely." Then, narrowing her eyes, she says, "You are going to tell him, aren't you?"  
"Yes, yes, of course. Just not now."

"T'Challa-"  
"He doesn't need to know", T'Challa cuts in with an impatient wave of the hand. "He's still recovering, and he should be focused on getting better."  
"Uh huh." Shuri crosses her arms and glares. "So I'm not worried enough, he's not supposed to be worried at all, and I'm supposed to sit here and let you stress yourself into a coma?"  
He sighs and rubs a hand over his mouth. His eyes flutter shut, and he purses his lips, forcing himself to focus on the lively sounds of technology surrounding him rather than the rising bubble of frustration rising within him.

"You need to calm down", Shuri insists, dropping a hand on his shoulder. When he opens his eyes and meets her gaze, she gives him a small, reassuring smile and lowers her hand to his forearm. Giving the arm a gentle, firm squeeze, she then says, "I know you're freaking out. I'm freaking out, too."  
T'Challa raises an eyebrow. "Could have fooled me."  
Shuri chuckles and playfully pushes him away, hopping off her desk and turning around to dig through one of the drawers. She retrieves a small notebook and looks back up at him. "I'm curious, but that doesn't mean I'm not worried. It's not everyday your brother mauls a goat and begins displaying feral traits, you know. And grows a pair of whiskers, I might add."

She hands him the notebook, which he accepts with a reluctant sigh. "I don't have whiskers", he murmurs as he flips through the pages. When he finds them to be empty, he looks up and asks, "What's this?"  
"Not yet. And it's for documentation."

"Documentation?"  
"Well, I'm assuming you want to keep this on the hush-hush. If that's the case, I'm the only one who can help you figure out exactly what all", she points to his claws and fangs, "that is and how to make sure we don't repeat what happened with the goat."  
T'Challa slides the notebook into his pocket. He leans over the table and, with an amused smirk replacing the taut expression, says, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"  
"Most definitely." She glides her hands over the desk and smiles when the model reemerges. "It'll make for some perfect puns."

"..."

"Starting now." She beams and folds her hands in front of her. "That was an accident."  
"Sure it was." T'Challa shakes his head and starts for the exit. Ignoring Shuri's knowing stare and the growing tightness in his chest, he pushes through the vibranium-rich door. It closes behind him with a resounding slam, and, when he finally reaches his quarters, he makes sure to make a note of his newly sensitive ears.


	2. Oh, What a Lovely Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More checkups from Shuri and a calming interaction with James just past sunrise.

To Shuri's disappointment, weeks pass, and T'Challa has yet to tell James of his developing Panther. If the worried glances T'Challa receives are any indication, it's just as much of a struggle for James as it as for him.

Him and his Panther.

T'Challa quickly discovered the big cat's opinion on the deception. After that first lie ("I'm fine, just a bit tired"), It had clawed a panic out of him, driving T'Challa to claw at their bedsheets in his sleep. As per usual, he'd been the first to awake and had been able to replace the sheets by the time James eventually rose. Nevertheless, the incident left T'Challa uneasy for several days, which only further incited the Panther.

"Well, obviously", Shuri mutters as she taps a pen against one of T'Challa's extended claws. "He is your cinnamon apple. It makes sense that It'd be excited to see him."

"That's putting it lightly", T'Challa retorts. He stares down at his claws and growls, easing his fingers into soft fists before pulling them towards his pockets. When this prompts a frown from Shuri, he sighs, drops his hands into his lap, and dances his claws against his thighs. "I practically tackled him this morning."  
"You've been doing that for the past eight months."  
"Yes, but those were harmless hugs."  
Shuri smiles, fingers pausing over her keyboard to hover in the air. She rolls back her shoulders and leans forward. "T'Challa", she begins. "This is you we're talking about. You'd never hurt anyone. Well, no one that didn't didn't deserve it."  
"But I'm not just me anymore", he argues, his usually calm voice laced with frustration and uncertainty. He stands from his seat and walks towards the window. Before him stretches a wide expanse of green and red, the forestry dotted with small, furry animals prancing about. For the moment, the sight is more soothing than it is stressful, but the sense of another presence resting in the deep crevices of his mind diminishes the little relief the scenery provides. Placing a hand against the window, T'Challa closes his eyes. "I don't know what this thing wants."

He hears footsteps approaching. A moment later, a soft, small hand is placed upon his shoulder. "I can't say for certain", Shuri says quietly. "But I'm sure It's just upset that you're keeping It a secret from James."  
He opens his eyes and turns to her.

"Just tell him."  
"I can't."  
"And why the hell not?"  
"Because that would require me embracing this Panther to begin with", he says in exasperation. "And who knows what that would entail? I could grow a tail or pair of ears for all I know, and I can't rule Wakanda looking like I caught the bad end of one of your experiment's."  
Shuri rolls her eyes. Still facing T'Challa, she starts back towards her desk. She retrieves his notebook from one of her drawers, wiggles it between her fingers, and trills, "I call bullshit."  
"How is-"

"Everyone loves the Panther", Shuri continues as she flips through the pages and begins to make note of something. "If you did happen to take on some aspects of the Panther, it'd just make everyone admire you more. But we both know that's not the real reason you're keeping this on the down low." She looks up from the book, pen firmly placed between her fingers, and shakes her head. "You're afraid of scaring James."

T'Challa falters. He holds Shuri's eye, though his assured disposition crumbles as his shoulders lower and his claws retreat. Shuri takes a seat at her desk, chin resting in the arch her hands have created, and watches him. There's no denying the curiosity behind her eyes, the barely concealed enthusiasm. But there's also no refuting the predominant concern within them either: big, brown eyes that, regardless of their thirst for novelties, have always put blood before science. T'Challa wipes a finger beneath his nose and breathes. "I think I've every right to be."  
Shuri scowls. She drops her chin into her palm; the beads she's woven into her hair jaggle in swift melodies, and the bracelets along her wrists clink as she gestures to herself. "I know", she points out. "And you haven't hurt me."

"That is different", T'Challa argues. "I am your brother, and I've know you your whole life. James is new, and our relationship is still blossoming." He growls, snatches a pen from her desk, and clenches a fist around it. It doesn't snap, but the applied pressure does urge a slight curve into the thin utensil. "And my Panther is like a child eager to play with a glass figurine."  
"I think you're being a bit dramatic but." She lifts her hands in defeat and kicks her feet onto her desk. "If you insist, I won't tell him." She jabs her pen into his shoulder and gives him a pointed glare. "Yet. And only if you promise that you will tell him at some point."

"Thank you. And I will, I will. I just need some time to make sure it's safe to tell him."

Shuri purses her lips. Her left foot bounces upon the desk, the purple paint of her toes drawing T'Challa's eye for but a moment. "You're being difficult", Shuri eventually says.  
"I'm being careful", T'Challa corrects. A thin smile creeps onto his face, and the lines surrounding his eyes lose prominence. "I have to be careful."  
"Brother, I know you're worried. And you're right; you've every right to be." She sighs. Overhead, the air-conditioning starts, transparent waves wafting through the air and tickling their skin. Stretching her arms above her head, she lets out a grunt and offers him a soft smile. "James is a good man. He's grown to be a good friend of mine, and I know how much you care for him." Her smile turns solemn, lips pressing against one another firmly, and she lowers her arms. She places her hands back on her desk and folds them over one another. "But do not put his recovery over your own well-being."

"I won't", T'Challa assures her. The air ducts extending from the desk blow against his pants' legs, and he shivers. He takes a step back, a low rumble rising in his chest. Shuri smirks into the palm of her hand and ducks her head. When T'Challa tosses her a flippant glare, she snickers, hops from her seat, and starts for the miniature fridge. Lowering into a squat, she looks over her shoulder, lifts a vase of an orange liquid into the air, and asks, "Want some Tej?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Two things: one; you're not old enough to drink; two; where did you get that from?"

"One: doesn't matter; two; not important." Shuri pulls two empty glasses from the fridge and sets them on either side of the vase. She sits on the floor, patting the space beside her. "Come on. It wouldn't kill you."

"No", he chuckles, his shoulders bouncing with the sound. "But it could bring trouble."  
Shuri rolls her eyes. She tilts the vase over a glass, watching as the near luminous liquid, and hands it to him as he takes a seat. "Do I have to remind you that you are a king", she taunts before bringing her lips to the rim of her glass. "As long as you don't put Wakanda or any other country at risk for war, I think you can afford a little trouble now and again."

T'Challa takes a sip of his drink, humming at the subsequent wave of saccharine that washes over his tongue. The flavor is like a calming hand to the ever present pressure in his chest, and, for the first time since unearthing his Panther, he finds himself at ease. On the contrary, as Shuri becomes overwhelmed with a fit of hiccups and giggles, the beast all but disappears, and the sun sets with a content T'Challa carrying his sister to her quarters.

. . .

Of course, the respite is only temporary. Morning arrives, and T'Challa awakes with James in his arms and his Panther stirring in his chest. He tumbles out of their queen-sized bed gracelessly and, giving the now conscious James semi-coherent reassurances, rushes into the bathroom. The door slams behind him, and he winces at the painful throb within his ears. Upon flicking up the light switch, the room floods with a warm light, prompting T'Challa to groan and swipe his hands over his eyes.

A tender knock sounds from the other side of the door, and T'Challa's snarl cuts off into a longing whimper. Before he can stop himself, he turns around and presses his ear to the acacian wood. "James?" The name comes out rough and prickly, as if he'd swallowed a cupful of pin needles.

James must be thinking the same because not a moment passes before he asks, "Are you feeling okay?"  
The Panther urges T'Challa forward once more, and he rubs his forehead against the door. It wants him to open the door; It wants him to rip the door off its hinges; It wants to lock James in their room to keep him away from prying eyes; It wants so many things.

T'Challa just wants to keep him safe.

"I'm fine", he eventually says. "I'm just feeling a little ill is all." He hears what he knows to be James shifting his weight from one foot to the other before his voice pierces through the door. "Do you, uh, want me to get Okoye?"  
Something scratches against his ribs, and red taints his vision. "No", he coughs out, walking towards the sink. He turns on the water, watching as it spills onto the Vibranium basin, and shoves his hands underneath the flow. "I'm sure it's just a little morning sickness."  
James chuckles from the other side of the door. "Let's hope not, I'm sure Shuri would kick my ass if it it is." His voice draws closer, and his shadow from underneath the floor climbs along the floor, sneaking closer to T'Challa. T'Challa glances up in the mirror, eyes widening once he finds his irises to be a light yellow. "T'Challa? Babe, talk to me."

T'Challa scoops some water into his hands and splashes the accumulating puddle onto his face. A shock dances down his spine, and his Panther retreats, turning over and allowing T'Challa and sit up and breathe. He gulps, hands tightly clenched around the black countertop, and licks his lips. Forcing his hands to still, he then stands taller and turns to face the door. He clears his throat, rubs shaking palms over his forearms, and says, "Come in".

The door creaks open, and James hesitantly pokes his head into the bathroom. He has horrid bed hair, and there's a dried trail of saliva clinging to his chin. The sight is both amusing and endearing, and it brings a wobbly smile to T'Challa's face. He nods, and James steps into the room, crossing the tiled floor in a quick yet soft pace. When he eventually pauses before him, he looks up at T'Challa with eyes full of skepticism and places a hand on his shoulder. The other wraps around T'Challa's waist, and he pulls him closer, tucking his face into the space between T'Challa's neck and his shoulder.

"Morning", James mumbles as his lips brush against the skin there.

T'Challa blinks. His fingers slide into James's hair. He rubs them against the roots extending from his scalp and sighs at the moist tongue gliding over his skin. "Good morning."

"I was worried."

He lowers his hands and takes James by the chin, forcing him to meet his eye. James frowns and stares up at him. His hands rises to hold T'Challa's, and he says, "You're quiet."  
T'Challa smirks. "It's morning. Is everything not quiet in the morning?"  
He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but this is a different kind of quiet", he explains, resting his head against T'Challa's chest. "The kind of quiet you use when you're keeping something from someone."

"James. I'm fine." He curls an arm around James and buries his nose into his hair. His chest flares with satiation, and T'Challa pulls him closer. "Honest."  
"Mm hm." James raises an eyebrow. "And if you weren't, you'd tell me?"  
Shuri would be furious. Shuri would jab him in the forehead with a baton. Shuri would tackle him to the floor, handcuff him to the towel rack, and sit on the bathroom counter bingeing YouTube videos until he introduced his Panther to James. But Shuri isn't here now.

And the morning's far too young for any massive revelations.

T'Challa hums and takes a step back. Hands still firmly holding James's cheeks, he smiles and presses their foreheads together. "Are you hungry?"

James takes one hand in his and allows it to drop between them. They start for the door, and he sighs. "Starving. You?"

A low rumble rattles his chest, and his tongue glides over his teeth. It comes as no surprise when he cuts the muscle against the newly developed canines. "I could eat."


	3. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa's really bad at keeping secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, guys, my first shot at a lemony-ish thing. Let's see how it goes.

His tail first sprouts in the midst of a video chat with Nakia.

Nakia's eyes are trained on the tablet in her hands, so she doesn't notice the drastic widening of T'Challa's eyes when he feels the smooth appendage brush against his arms. He sits back in his chair and grabs for his tail, only for it to dart out of reach and gyrate behind his back. When he growls in frustration, Nakia looks up from her tablet. She takes note of the heavy arch in T'Challa's brows and his line of sight and draws closer to her screen.

"My king", she says, words yielding an amused tilt. "What are you doing?"

His tail slithers around his waist, and he inhales sharply. Turning back to face Nakia, he clears his throat, one hand still searching for his tail, and says, "Nothing. I'm sorry, you'll have to go back a few sections. I got distracted."  
"Yes, I could see. And that distraction was..."  
His tail wriggles against his abdomen. "Nothing of any major importance. Please, proceed with your readings."

To his chagrin, Nakia places her tablet beside the stack of papers creeping onto the screen and folds her hands. She studies T'Challa with intent, taking in every taut muscle in his face and his fidgeting fingers. "I was speaking with Shuri earlier", she says as she reaches for a cup of what T'Challa knows to be coffee.

"Oh? That must have been interesting."  
"Yes, as always. She said you're sick." She takes a sip of her drink, and her eyes flutter for a moment before opening once more. "Something about food poisoning."  
T'Challa raises an eyebrow. He frowns and rolls forward in his chair, grounding his palms on either side of his desk. "Food poisoning?"  
"Mm hm." She lowers her cup from her lips and smirks. "Mm hm. Apparently, there was a raw goat meat situation?"  
T'Challa purses his lips. His tail stands on end, and he scoots his laptop over the desktop to keep it hidden.

"T'Challa?"  
The hairs crawling up his spine stand erect. His hands begin to tremble beneath the desk, numb from the pins and needles sensation afflicting them, and he chuckles. "I'm fine", he states with a tranquility he doesn't possess. "Shuri just enjoys a good joke."  
"Believe me, I noticed." The sunlight streaming from her window shines upon Nakia's face, and she glows. All at once, T'Challa feels at ease; as the marble earrings dangling from her ears catch a ray of sun, Nakia tilts her head and watches him. "You're troubled", she notes without flourish. "Is something the matter?"  
"No, no, of course not." He runs a hand over his sideburns and shakes his head. "I just need rest is all."  
"That's not the face of tired man."  
"I assure you, I'm fine."

Nakia's tablet trills, but she makes no move to check it. Instead, she keeps her eyes locked on T'Challa, watching, waiting for something that'll make the visible apprehension upon his face make sense.

"Our outreach programs have proven to be successful", T'Challa says as his tail curls around his ankle. "Every child who's taken part in the program has relayed an interest in pursuing further education in numerous fields. We even have a few dozen applying to internships this summer. Of course, we won't know the true impact for years, decades even, but I-"  
"You're really terrible at keeping secrets", Nakia cuts in with a flick of her wrist. She leans forward, and her body jumps from her room and into his, a shimmering, blue projection of the woman resting in a motel on another continent. The hologram places its hands over T'Challa's, and even though there's no tangible comfort in the gesture, he feels comforted by the intention. "I trust that you're handling whatever it is that's troubling you as best you can."

The disappointment and worry contorting Shuri and James's faces flash behind his eyelids. He raises a fist to his mouth, coughs, and nods. "Yes, of course."  
"You're also a lousy liar." Her hand rises to linger beside his cheek. The ghost of her touch is like a dull ache in his chest, and he finds himself lidden with longing as he draws as close to the hologram as he can without disturbing its image.

"You never did miss anything", he murmurs into her hand before pulling away.

Nakia smirks, and she sits back as well, hands grabbing for her tablet once more. She presses a button, and a sheet of paper projects beside T'Challa.

"Like you said, our existing programs are well off. The plan is to establish five more within 'red' communities, but we can't move forward without your approval."  
His tail snakes beneath his robes. He curls his fingers into a fist and hums. "You have my approval."  
"And you've my support." Her eyes give a slow blink, conveying the no matter what that her lips have withheld.  
T'Challa pulls his lower lip between his teeth, which have sharpened to the point of making the gesture almost painful. "I know." Then he settles his fingers over his keyboard, and they don't discuss it further.

. . .

"Someone's excited."

T'Challa growls, nips James behind the ear, and snakes his fingers underneath his armpits. They come to wrap around his waist, and T'Challa's pulls him close, pressing feather-light kisses to his neck. James blinks and takes T'Challa's hand in his, turning to grab him by his chin. Before he can do so, T'Challa lifts him off the ground and rushes to the bed. He teases his tongue across James's nipple and looks up. "I wonder why", he offers cheekily.

James rolls his eyes, allowing himself to be pushed into the satiny sheets adorning the mattress, and reaches up, pressing their lips together. Body contorting with heavy pants, T'Challa places his hands on either side of James and smiles. James smiles back and extends an arm to wrap around his neck. Their chests slam against each other and they slide close, close enough that the beads of sweat dotting their skin makes their bodies stick to one another.

With his newly enhanced senses, the tantalizing slick and slide of eager bodies gliding over each other sends T'Challa into a drunken haze. He has James's feet hooked around his bare waist, and the piquant scent of sweat and arousal is mystifying. James probes his tongue between T'Challa's lips, and a display of fireworks explodes behind T'Challa's eyelids. His fingers curl around James's hips, and he opens his eyes. Beneath him lies James, submissive and needy and trusting.

It's as pleasing a sight as it is terrifying.

A ragged sigh breaks past his lips, and his hips and tongue pause their ministrations. James seeks out his lips for but a moment before he takes note of the guilt-ridden expression upon T'Challa's face. He sits up, dislodging several pillows in his wake, and crawls towards him. When T'Challa makes no move to meet him halfway, he continues forward, pausing only when half an inch rests between them. He rubs a hand against the small of T'Challa's back and stares at the comforter dangling from their bed.

"It's okay", he whispers as he places a kiss to T'Challa's cheek. "We don't have to."  
"No, it's not-" T'Challa groans, clenches his eyes shut, and swipes a hand over his face. "I do. Want to. I just...I can't." He takes his left hand in his right and proceeds to brush a thumb over his knuckles. The Panther is stirring, and the urge to leap from his bed and out the window is far too tempting. But James, who has not quite recovered from a loneliness that's never quite been tended to, who has yet to fully adapt to the concept of being a person, who'd taken months to truly smile at T'Challa, is staring at him with eyes so insecure that the yearning is doused almost as quickly as it'd been ignited. Mindful of the still fervent presence within him, T'Challa wraps an arm around James's shoulders and presses his lips to the underside of his neck.

"It scares me", T'Challa begins, his words tentative and heedfully chosen. "How much I want you." He brushes a lock of hair out of James's face, smiling when the light returns to James's eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."  
James snorts. He waves a hand through the air and watches as sunlight bounces off the vibranium limb. "Babe. I'm, like, a thousand years old. I think I'm capable of taking care of myself." He flexes his arms above his head, smirking at the sun beams the movement produces and the light smile it draws from T'Challa. "You seein' this gun show?"  
T'Challa grabs his forearms and shakes his head. His smile is endearing, but there's a layer of wariness hidden beneath the fondness. His fingers race up and down James's arm, and his head tilts to the side, almost in a drooping fashion. "Yes, I see", he says, eyes lowering to the bit of space between them.

James tracks the movement; upon seeing where T'Challa's attention has fallen, he scoots closer to him. "Come on. Of all people, you haven't got anything to worry about in this department." James drops his head onto T'Challa's shoulder and sighs. "You'd never hurt me. I trust that."  
T'Challa gulps. His arm coils tightly around James's waist, but he doesn't look at him.

"I've known a lot of bad men", James continues. His voice is lower now, consumed with the sleepiness that always overtakes him at noon. "And you ain't one of 'em." Soon enough, he's fallen asleep, and T'Challa's left with a content Panther and a newly refurbished anxiety. He tangles their fingers together, pulls a blanket over them, and presses his nose into the field of brown hair beside him.

"You are lovely", T'Challa whispers before turning off the bedside lamp and falling into a fitful slumber.


	4. Dreaming of the Days Passed the Days to Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams weren't meant to be transparent.

He still sees his father.

Not often but enough that he hasn't the opportunity to forget his face. He sees him in his dreams, in memories unearthed from his early childhood.

This is one of those memories, though he's taken the form of a quirky adolescent rather than a curious toddler.

They're standing at the base of a cliff, from which pours a heavy torrent of water. T'Challa, lean and withdrawn, fidgets beside his father, who's crouched before the stream at their feet. T'Chaka smiles, wafting his hands through the light current of water, and glances up at T'Challa.

T'Challa shifts on his feet, expands his chest, and lowers to meet him near the water. "Baba?"  
"You've discovered something, my son."

T'Challa darts his eyes to the water, then back up to his father. "I don't see anything."  
"Not here." He points to a place where the world fades to grey and white, then looks back into the stream. "Out there."

"Out...in the waking world?"  
"Yes. Your Panther, I presume?"

A flock of birds erupts from an eucalyptus tree a few meters away, and fangs descend from T'Challa's mouth. He lowers his head in shame, and stares into his lap. "I can't control It", he whispers, the sound barely audible over the roaring of the waterfall.

"Mm." T'Chaka dives his hands beneath the water; when they emerge, it's with a large scoop of red sand. The sand slides between his fingers and plops back into the water, sending ripples of increasing sizes throughout the stream. "It was never meant to be controlled", he eventually says as he places his hands at the nucleus of a ripple. "Perhaps that is why you struggle now."  
T'Challa's eyebrows come together to form a sharp mountain. His knees dig deep into the sand, and he draws closer to his father, both confused and comforted by his words. "Father, there is a Panther living inside me", he admonishes as T'Chaka grabs another handful of sand. "With each passing day, It grows stronger and-and hungrier, and my resolve weakens."  
"Well, that is as it should be." Water splashes against both of their faces, though T'Challa notices with a detached curiosity that the liquid dissolves upon contacting his father's skin. "When you partook of the Heart Shaped Herb, you evoked the powers of Bast. Do you've any idea the repercussions of stifling such a power?"

T'Challa bites his lips and stares down at himself. He's wearing a black pair of polyester overalls, and his feet are bare. Sand is clotted between his toes, and he has a rock embedded in the bottom of his foot. When he looks up, he finds his father to be wearing the same attire and a lax expression. There's a patch of red clinging to the sleeve of his arm; upon further inspection, he also finds T'Chaka's steadfast hands clad in bandages.

"I remember this day", T'Challa says, his voice subdued with nostalgia. "This is my final day of training with you. Before the Dora took me into their care."  
"It is."  
"We were tending a fire. A gecko shot out from the river, and I jumped and pushed you into the fire."  
"It was an accident", T'Chaka assures, watching the damp sand drip into his hands.  
"I know, I know, but I still did it. And you used the water to soothe your burns until we found some herbs."

T'Chaka chuckles. "You were...quite distressed until then."  
"Your hands were red and peeling", T'Challa returns lightly. "I think I had the right." Then, the smile leaving his face once more, he shakes his head and grabs T'Chaka by the shoulder. "Baba. Please. I am lost."

"Water can only do so much", T'Chaka murmurs. Nonetheless, as he says this, he stalks closer to the water and buries himself until only his neck remains above water. "Nature's green must tend to the rest of the healing."

T'Challa blinks. He follows after him and gulps. "I know. And I am sorry-"  
"It's quite literally in the past."  
"-But I really could use some insight. And I know it's horribly selfish because your hands are starting to blister-"  
"They feel like plums that've been to left to explode in the sun."

"Please." His voice cracks, and he closes his eyes. "I don't know what to do. How can I be all that I need to be if I continue to lose myself?"  
T'Chaka pulls a pebble from the sand and stares. "Your sister would adore an ornament like this."  
T'Challa snarls, snatches the pebble from his hand, and tosses it to the outer depth of the stream. It skitters across the surface for a few beats, then falls beneath the water. T'Chaka tracks its journey until T'Challa suddenly turns him to face him, eyes wide and a fierce orange.

"Listen!", T'Challa cries, and the lively forest surrounding them falls silent. He grabs his father's shoulders and squeezes. "I am not fit for this."  
"Not fit for what?" When T'Challa falters, T'Chaka smiles, shakes his head, and takes a step back into the water. "I can't help with something you're aren't willing to admit", he says before sinking to his knees. And this time, he doesn't stop until his head dives far beneath the water.

Without looking to see, T'Challa knows that he's gone. Above them, water continues to rush from the waterfall; the fauna resumes its morning song, and something sharp presses against the inside of his chest. His hands clench at his sides, and he breathes, and, all at once, he is lying down, face pressed into his mother's thigh and eyes staring at the hooked rug beneath them. Ramonda's fingers are in his hair, braiding and unbraiding minuscule columns with an expertise he'd almost forgotten. Beside them rests Shuri, hands wrapped around her ankles and brows set in worry. She watches with an overt interest, but she doesn't do anything to disrupt the tranquil scene that's unfolded.

Ramonda hums and drags a hand away to rest against T'Challa's cheek. "You always were a deep sleeper", she heeds, watching T'Challa's eyes rise to meet her own.

He rubs his knuckle into his eyes and uses his free hand to cover his mouth as a yawn breaks through. "How long have you been here", he asks.  
"Not long. What did you dream of?"  
"Father." The hand in his hair stills for a fraction of a second, then returns to its braiding. An airtight bubble expands in his stomach, and the saliva in his mouth runs dry. He knows even before he asks that it's a silly question, an insensitive question actually, but he asks it nonetheless: "Do you miss him?"  
The hand against his face withdraws to lay against his back. "Every day", she sighs. "And with all my heart."

"Does he ever speak to you?"  
"Yes."  
"And what does he say?"  
"Ah. What he's said in the past. And what he knows I need to hear." She presses her lips to his forehead and smiles, a knowing glint behind her eyes. "But only", she taps her index finger against his nose, "When I am ready to listen."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time's running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally. So the story's winding down. Monday's update will be the last, and I just wanted to give you guys a heads up so yeah. Thank you to every who's commented and taken the time to read this fic because it's been a delight writing and seeing your guys' reaction to it.

The hunger is unforgiving.

Lying in bed at night, his back pressed into James's chest, he's immensely aware of the broiling fire in his stomach. For once, James rests in a peaceful slumber, arms wrapped around T'Challa's waist as he snores. His heart is a steady, soft beat, thump thump thumping in an enticing harmony. At first, the struggle to quell the flames in his belly is minimal. But as the night draws on, T'Challa finds himself becoming far more tempted.

The moon peaks over the kingdom, and he crawls out of bed, stumbles out of their room, and roams the halls of the castle aimlessly. There are a few Dora assigned to each corridor, and a few take a moment, before he rushes past them, to give him a concerned stare. His feet take him to the kitchen, and he doesn't pause to marvel at why most of the journey there is escaping him. Instead, T'Challa crosses the room and pulls open the freezer door. Eyes zeroing in on a tray of red meat he hasn't the mind to identify, he licks his lips and reaches into the freezer. He tears through the plastic wrapping and shoves a slab of meat into his mouth. Blood trickles from his lips, and he closes his eyes, growling contentedly, before he grabs another piece.

Just as he reaches for another tray of meat, the overhead light at the front of the kitchen flicks on, and T'Challa's head jerks up. Tossing the empty tray into the trash can beside him, he grabs a napkin from the countertop, swipes it over his mouth, and shoves the remaining tray back into the freezer. Face awash with guilt, he clears his throat and licks his tongue over his teeth. "Hello."  
"T'Challa?" James yawns and walks to him. "Babe. What are you doing?"  
T'Challa glances down at his red hands. "I had a craving.  
"Huh." Arms snake around T'Challa's waist, and a moist mouth presses into his hair. "Never took you for the midnight snack kind of fella."  
"It's a recent development."  
"Mm." James yawns again, breath warm and familiar against T'Challa's head, and he begins to rock them from side to side. "You've been having a lot of those lately."  
"I know."

James lowers his face and presses it into the center of T'Challa's neck. "Miss you, babe."  
T'Challa slides his hands into the sleeves of his robe and pushes down a whine. "I'm sorry." He yearns to turn around and comfort his lover with an enamored kiss. But the taste of blood is still fresh on his tongue, and James smells so heavenly that T'Challa isn't quite sure what to do with himself.

"Don't be sorry", James coos. "I just want you to be okay." His voice lowers, and his hold around T'Challa's waist loosens with diffidence. "You can trust me, you know?" T'Challa doesn't have to turn around to know that James is looking up through his hair. "With anything, even if ya think it's nothing major. I'm-I'm here for you. Not matter what."  
T'Challa sniffles, body taut in James's hold, but nods. Then, growing resolve, he slowly cranes his head around and smiles. Hands still hidden by the silky fabric of his robe, he smooths a thumb over James's eyebrows. "I adore you with my everything", he says, lips aching to meet James's. "And...soon. I promise."

James chuckles, the sound light and somewhat incredulous. "Sometimes", he admits in a dim voice, a hesitant hand wrapping around T'Challa's. "Sometimes, I still can't believe you're real."

T'Challa grips him tightly. "I am", he says; his words are strong and demanding, even if the yearning from within has left him depleted and weary. "As real as the moon outside tonight. I'm real. And so are we."

"I know." The hand around T'Challa's waist brushes over his stomach, coaxing a pleased sigh from T'Challa's and a relieved sigh from James. "Believe me, I know." He kisses T'Challa's temple and stays there; T'Challa knows it won't last, but it's a welcomed constant against the ever present sense of volatile lability; how long has it been since he's allowed James this close? How long since he's had the luxury of putting the Panther out of mind? Far too long, if their desperate clinging to one another yields any substance. James's eyes blink open, and he stares. "And you? You know this is real. Right?"  
"Yes."  
"Good. And, just so ya know, I'll be here. Whenever you need to talk."

T'Challa's head lowers, fingers briefly curling into a tight ball in James's shirt; his throat constricts. "Thank you."

James smiles, then pulls away, lingering for but a moment before saying, "Come back to bed when you're ready."

And then he's gone.

T'Challa's still hungry.

. . .

"This is not healthy."

T'Challa hisses, sharply withdrawing his forearm from Shuri's lithe hold, and bares his teeth. Shuri's eyes narrow at the sight, and she snatches a fly swatter off the desk, shoving the tip against his throat. "I will swat you", she warns with a pointed look. When he eases back into his seat, she gives a firm nod and sets the syringe on the desk. "I know the Heart Shaped Herb is supposed to be like magical weed that only gives you badass superpowers", she says as she jots down his latest dosage. "But there's only so much of this stuff you can take before this becomes an issue."  
"That is why we're using a modulation of the Herb", T'Challa retorts, tearing the plastic band from his arm. It snaps halfway through the movement, leaving him to stare at the dangling string in mild awae. He allows it to fall into the tin can beside him, then turns back to Shuri. "We reduce the amount of Vibranium in the Herb, we reduce my...symptoms."  
Shuri shakes her head. "Neither of us is qualified for work of this sort". She tosses her clipboard into a drawer and slams it shut, placing her hands on the desk with exasperation. "Especially not you. Not with your head being where it's at."  
"Shuri-"  
"No, shut up." She brushes her braids over her shoulder and marches towards him. Tendrils of red hot distress exude from her, and her placid breathing has fractured, coming out in uneven pants. "It doesn't matter what you do; it doesn't matter how much of this stuff you shoot up your arm." She sticks her finger into his chest and glares. "Your Panther is coming out. The only thing you're doing is aggravating it."  
T'Challa closes his eyes. His head leans back into the headrest of his chair, and his hands tremble at his sides. "Not yet."  
"Brother, you're isolating yourself." She retrieves a bottle of hand sanitizer and an alcohol pad from her cup holder and squirts some of the freezing liquid into her hands. Then, mindful to keep her movements slow, she grabs a bottle of rubbing alcohol and approaches T'Challa. She dabs the bottle against the pad and swipes it over the injected area, returning a moment later to apply a bandage. "I know you're going for this Black Panther aura, but you don't have to adopt the whole solitary cat thing."  
"I just need time", T'Challa stresses as he stands from the chair. His foot taps erratically against the floor, and his tail swishes back and forward in agitation. "I'll tell everyone, but I can't now."  
Shuri grabs his wrist and stares up at him. "At this point", she says. "I really don't think the decision's in your hands." T'Challa doesn't say anything, doesn't even spare her half a glance, so she digs her nails into his skin and glares. Then, before she pulls away, she tosses him a bottle of water, and says, "Please. Be careful."  
"I am being careful", he insists.  
"You don't know what you're doing. You keep this up, and we're going to have another goat on our hands."  
T'Challa rolls his eyes. "I've been taking care to avoid red meat; we should be more worried about possibility of me attacking someone rather than my eating habits."  
"Well, for one, that's a really low possibility, and you can try avoiding it all you want, but it won't last forever. Don't think I know about your little snack run the other night."  
He turns around and hisses, "How do you know about that?"  
Shuri giggles, pulling her feet beneath her in her seat, and beams. "I put up cameras in the kitchen when all this started. Just to monitor your 'eating habits'."  
"Please, go away."


	6. Kitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa's Panther grows tired of waiting and takes matters into Its own hands...paws.

"Why is this a kid's movie?"

James has an arm tossed around T'Challa's shoulders as they rest in the leather loveseat of their suite. On the TV before them, Scar and Simba battle, each roaring as ferociously as the flames surrounding them. It's a Disney film, one that'd come at Shuri's recommendation, which probably should have, but ultimately didn't, draw suspicion. As he sits in James's embrace, there's no denying the film's resemblance with his own life. And there's also no denying the discomfort that arises at such a fact.

Shuri, you conniving little...

"I'm sure children of this world've seen worse in their time", T'Challa says, fingers digging into the leather cushions.

"Can't argue with that", James chuckles; T'Challa's Panther claws at his chest, eager to break free and relish in the jovial sound, and he swallows. James turns towards him, once again noticing the stiffness in his lover's shoulders, and frowns. The film continues to play as he takes in the torrents of sweat cascading down T'Challa's temples. He takes T'Challa into his arms and holds him tight, tucking the taller man's nose into his shoulder. "Babe? Babe, what's wrong?"

"N-Nothing", T'Challa deflects, pulling away to give him an ailing smile. "I'm fine."  
"No, you're not." James presses a hand to his forehead, and his frown deepens. He raises his wrist to lips, his kimoyo beads jingling from the movement. "I'll call Okoye and-"  
"Please. Please, don't." He pushes James's hand down and stares, his eyes pleading. "I'm fine, there's no need to call anyone."  
"T'Challa, you're sick. How long have you been like this?" A wave of fear expels from James, and T'Challa whimpers, falling from James's arms and collapsing to the floor. Something thumps beside him, and he feels a cold and a warm hand take hold of his shoulders. Upon contact, a snarl rips through his chest, and his teeth elongate. James pulls him from the floor and turns him around, eyes widening when he sees T'Challa's opaline fangs and yellow eyes. "T'Challa?"

"You need to go", T'Challa groans, fists balling the shag fabric of the carpeting beneath him. "You need to leave." When James doesn't move, his face contorts in pain, and he cries out, "Now! Please."  
"No. No, I'm not leaving you like this." He places his hands over T'Challa's. "Hey. It's gonna be okay, all right? You can let go now."

"I could hurt you."  
James smiles softly. He curls a hand around his neck and shakes his head. "In what universe could that ever be a possibility?"

T'Challa's lower lip quivers, and his hands tremble. His body is inflamed with fire, and his bones are shattering. His spine jerks to the side, then snaps back to attention, prompting an anguished cry from his core. James remains by his side the entire time, his face patient and calm. Every so often, when another bone realigns itself or a growl escapes T'Challa's, he'll flinch, and the hand clinging to T'Challa's will tighten. But he never releases his hold, and he never leaves. Even when T'Challa eventually leaves him, a panting, confused Panther crouched in his place, James doesn't leave. He just remains still.

And he watches.

T'Challa rises to stand on wobbly paws and turns to face him. He whines, low and frightened, and peddles his paws against the shag carpet. His tail rests between his hind legs, and his ears have come to rest beside his temples. James stretches a hand forward, and the whine cuts itself short, T'Challa cocking his head to the side to consider the extremity. He creeps toward James, each scoot carefully measured and drawn out.

"It's okay", James whispers as T'Challa presses his nose against his collarbone. "It's me. You remember me, don't you?"

T'Challa grunts and crawls closer; his front paws resting against James's thighs, he trails his nose from his clavicle to the skin beneath his chin. A low vibration emits from his chest as he begins sniffing the area, and it takes a moment for James to realize that T'Challa's purring. He chuckles nervously, pets his side, and raises an apprehensive hand to scratch behind his ear. The purring intensifies, and T'Challa bites the air teasingly before going to lick James's face.

"All right, all right", James says with a strong smile. He digs his fingers deeper into the fur on T'Challa's back. "Yeah, you remember me." When T'Challa yips in what he presumes to be the affirmative, James sighs and pulls his face towards his. T'Challa licks his muzzle, tail wagging frantically with elation. "When you're you again", he says as T'Challa surges forward and tackles him to the floor. "We're gonna have a nice, long talk."

. . .

When T'Challa returns after several hours of gradually decreasing mayhem, it's to the familiarity of James's arms and their expansive bed. James is staring down at him, eyes full of warmth compassion, and T'Challa can't help but leap forward to kiss his jugular. James chuckles, rubbing a hand over T'Challa's exposed back, and lies still, allowing him to continue the eager displays of affection.

"Why didn't you tell me", he asks when his lips leave his neck.

T'Challa sinks into further into his arms and rubs his head against James's shoulder. "I didn't want to bother you."  
"Bother me?" James sits up, careful not to dislodge T'Challa. "I may not know everything about your Panther, but I do know that he's a part of you." He brushes his fingers over T'Challa's cheek. "Keeping him in like that can't be good for you."  
T'Challa laughs, all at once sounding both winded and relieved. "Trust me, it isn't."  
"You could have hurt yourself." He glides his lips over T'Challa's collarbone. "Please. Never sacrifice yourself to keep anyone level-headed. Isn't that what you're always telling me?"

T'Challa rolls his eyes but offers James a brief nod. He lifts a hand to tangle itself in James's hair and purrs, eyes lidded and content. "I guess it is. I just wasn't sure if you were listening or not." He ducks beneath a playful swat to his head, returning the gesture with a tender bite at James's nose.

"We're a team", James says through a light laugh. "I don't care how strange or uncomfortable it is. Now, Imma respect that you might need a minute to open up on some things, but you have to know that I'm gonna love you no matter what." Abandoning T'Challa's collarbone in pursuit of a higher destination, he crawls higher and presses their lips together. He then separates, leaving but a bit of space between them, and says, "These past few years, you've always been here for me. Now, it's my turn."  
Something warm and pleasant pulses from T'Challa's heart and flushes throughout his bloodstream. The remnants of his anxiety reduced to phantom emotions, he pulls James closer to him and nuzzles his face into his neck. "I love you, too."  
James closes his eyes. His grip around T'Challa tightens, and he sighs, shoulders falling lax. "I know." He traces his fingers over the veins protruding along T'Challa's arm. T'Challa watches with absent minded fondness, attention primarily focused on the scent emanating from James's neck.

Several minutes pass, both still entangled in each other bodies, before T'Challa suddenly pulls away and bites his lip. James raises an eyebrow. "What?"  
"You said I could tell you everything", he begins, hands tugging at their bedspread. "So...anything and everything?"  
"Anything and everything", James confirms with a smile.  
"What if it's something odd?"  
He smirks. "Odd how?"

"Odd like being tempted to eat a rhinoceros." T'Challa chuckles, face flush with embarrassment. "Or several rhinoceroses."  
James tosses a leg over T'Challa's and cradles his body in his arms. "Then you tell me, and we go out and find the fattest, meatiest rhinoceroses in the country. How's that sound?"

T'Challa's stomach growls, and he drops his head onto James's chest. "Lovely."  
"Good. But I'm serious. If anything happens, and I mean anything, you can come to me. Okay?"  
"Yes, love. But in the meantime." T'Challa sits up and crawls into his lap, grinding against his pelvis. "I'm afraid I'm finding myself tempted again."  
"Oh?" James's arms wrap around his waist, hands moving to swiftly pin T'Challa to the bed. James looms over him, smirking against his lips before asking, "Is it another rhinoceros?"  
"No." T'Challa's eyes turn a darker shade of yellow, like a warm pool of corroded paint. "But it is delectable", he says, hooking his legs around James's waist. "And quite satisfying." T'Challa's lips curve upward, and he chuckles, taking a bite of James's earlobe. "On occasion."  
"Eat me, kitty."  
"Oh, I intend to."


End file.
